Arrows
by whotookmypie
Summary: All children are born with wings of innocence and bliss , but sooner or later, the arrows of time and sorrow always bring them down. A collection of bite-sized stories from the lives of Harry Potter characters and how they lost their wings.
1. Harry

_When the first baby laughed for the first time, its laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies._

-J.M. Barrie, _Peter Pan_

* * *

**DISCLAIMER:** As much as I'd like to own Harry Potter, I don't.

**Author's Note: **As promised, I edited this! Yay! Vote for the next character on my profile page please :)

**Chapter 1: Harry**

When you consider how horribly the Dursleys had treated him, it's amazing how little Harry Potter managed to keep his head up throughout those ten miserable years of his childhood, right up to that fateful moment when Hagrid knocked down the door and rescued him from that hellhole they called a hut.

It wasn't easy. Not even close.

* * *

_** i. Blue**_

It was the first day of nursery school, the day four-year-old Harry Potter had been looking forward to ever since Aunt Petunia mentioned it a month ago. As the Dursleys treated Harry with anything but love, he had been hoping that school would be a sort of safe haven for him, a refuge from the abuse he was used to. And even if it didn't turn out so great, it would at least be better than having to deal with the Dursleys, right?

Wrong.

At precisely 7:00 AM that day, Aunt Petunia marched upstairs to the smallest bedroom and rudely woke Harry with her usual sharp raps on the door.

"Up, boy!" she squawked. "I need you to set the table and pack Dudder's knapsack for him. Hurry! Move it!"

Being unaccustomed to rising this early (Aunt Petunia usually woke him up half an hour later), Harry took a few minutes to clear his mind and drag himself out of bed. He trudged into the kitchen; Aunt Petunia acknowledged his presence by pointing at the utensils drawer. He grabbed a few plates and forks and got to work.

Forty-five minutes later, Harry and Dudley were at the nursery school, Dudley being drowned in kisses and hugs from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia and Harry standing awkwardly off to the side. Uncle Vernon ushered him away with a "Shoo, boy, now go behave." Looking back, Harry wished he had been able to do just that. His teacher, Ms. Barker, was a strict, no-nonsense disciplinarian, and the first thing she did was give a half-hour-long lecture on class rules, the most important of which, she stressed, was to always be paying attention, and the look on her face seemed to add "or else." Harry found it to be unbearably boring, and her monotonous nasal voice made it all the worse; soon, his eyelids were drooping and he was wishing that Aunt Petunia could've given him that precious half-an-hour. He would give anything for a little bit of sleep...if only he hadn't been tossing and turning the night before, wallowing in his anxiety...thud. His head clunked down onto his little wooden desk, knocking his taped glasses askew, and he was fast asleep. Unfortunately for Harry, Ms. Barker wasn't one to miss out on details (in fact, she loved to screech for hours on end at students she'd caught talking in class), and her eagle eye immediately zeroed in on the dozing Harry.

"_Harry Potter, what in the name of God do you think you're doing?_" she shrieked shrilly. Harry's head jerked up in surprise, and there was murmur of interest among his classmates. "How dare you have the _audacity_ to not listen to me, you disrespectful creature? I suppose it's the type of behavior I'd expect from a _beast_ like you, anyhow, with that filthy, indecent appearance of yours, and those nasty parents you've got… unemployed _drunks_, I heard...shame on you, Potter, for dumping yourself onto a decent, hardworking respectable family! _How_ they can possibly deal with an obscenity like you, I'd like to know!" And on and on she went, criticizing every little thing about Harry she could possibly find (as you may have noticed, Ms. Barker was a teensy bit loco in the coco.) Harry's green eyes narrowed in anger behind his taped glasses, and out of nowhere, too soft for anyone but Harry to hear, there was a small, hardly audible _pop._

Ms. Barker took a deep breath, composed herself, and continued. "And now, I will continue explaining the rules-_what are you brats goggling at?_" she barked. For their twenty-five pairs of little eyes were fixed, fascinated, upon their teacher's puffy wig of curly hair, a wig that up until five seconds ago was fiery red; it was now the dark, vibrant color of a blueberry. Ms. Barker pulled out a mirror, took one look, and squealed for the second time in five minutes. Her icy eyes met Harry's, and at the end of the day, he had a stiff paper note to bring to the Dursleys in his back pocket, weighing him down with every step.

Uncle Vernon seemed to be in a good mood that day, which was a shame, because he was rarely ever in a good mood and today Harry would have to ruin it. Bracing himself, he walked up to Uncle Vernon, placed the note gingerly upon the table as if it was about to explode, and quickly backed away. Uncle Vernon fumbled with the note in his meaty hands, all the while glaring at Harry suspiciously. Harry closed his eyes tightly and steeled himself for the outburst. He waited for a whole minute, but it didn't come, so he opened his eyes ever so carefully and saw Uncle Vernon staring blankly at the note, face purpler than a grape. Uncle Vernon turned towards Harry very, very, slowly, and screeched, "What is this nonsense, boy? You turned your teacher's wig blue?"

"I swear, I didn't do it!" Harry shouted, but alas, to no avail. "One moment it was red, and then all of a sudden it was blue! I didn't have anything to do with it! It was like magic!"

All the color suddenly drained from Uncle Vernon's face, and soon he more resembled cottage cheese than a grape. "There is no such thing as magic." he hissed, his piggy eyes shining with malice. "_There. Is. No. Such. Thing. As. Magic._ You hear me, boy?" he roared. "Now get out! Out! Go to bed!" Harry turned miserably to head upstairs, but Uncle Vernon stopped him.

"Where do you think you're going? That room isn't yours anymore." A sickening smirk widened beneath his frizzy walrus moustache. "We're giving it to Dudley to keep his things. You"-he strolled to the cupboard beneath the stairs and opened the door invitingly-"can sleep here." He pushed Harry into the dark, cold cupboard and leered at him through the peephole. "Sweet dreams."

Soon after, word got around that Harry Potter was an abnormal freak, and from then on he was an outcast. Dudley was permitted to relentlessly bully him at school, and he abused this privilege every chance he got. E**verybody knew that Dudley's gang hated that odd Harry Potter in his baggy old clothes and broken glasses, and nobody liked to disagree with Dudley's gang.**

As Harry lay shivering in his cupboard that night, he decided that blue was a fitting color for Ms. Barker's wig; for as far as colors went, blue was the one that described his life best.

* * *

**Please review! Bold text belongs to our favorite genius, JKR, which I used because there was no better way to put it that the way she did. ****Tell me in your review which character I should write about next, or go to the poll on my profile. **As always, virtual cookies to reviewers, and if you're lucky maybe you'll also get a Fudge Fly. 


	2. Remus

_Humans see what they want to see._

-Rick Riordan, _The Lightning Thief_

* * *

**DISCLAIMER:** Sadly, I am not JKR. Ha, if only...

**Author's Note: **Don't forget to vote for the next chapter on my profile!

**Chapter 2: Remus**

* * *

_**ii. Inside**_

"Time for bed, Reemy," Lyall Lupin called softly, picking up his four-year-old son and carrying him to his bedroom. He tucked Remus in, ruffling his light brown hair and kissing him on the forehead. "Good night, sleep tight, and don't let the werewolves bite."

The door shut gently behind Lyall, the bright white light flickered off, and little Remus Lupin quickly fell asleep, the yellow rays of the full moon cast upon his youthful face.

Sometime around midnight, there was a faint scuffling noise by the window, but Remus didn't wake up. The angular, wolfish face of a not-quite-human man crept above the windowsill, its sulfur-yellow eyes searching hungrily for its victim and coming to rest upon the sleeping child. A sinister smile spread across the beast's dark, hairy face. Clawlike hands gripped the bottom of the glass like vices, inching it up ever so slightly-_creak_. The slumbering boy rolled over in his sleep, and the creature froze, only resuming when it made sure he was still asleep. Slowly, painfully, the window was forced open, and a dark shadow of a werewolf glided into Remus's room.

Fenrir Greyback.

Greyback slithered soundlessly towards the small bed in the corner of the room. He bent over its young inhabitant, pale pink lips stretched in a gruesome smile. One dirty claw reached out and tenderly caressed the smooth skin of Remus's face, an action not unlike one Lyall himself would do-but the expression on the werewolf's face bore no love, only evil.

_Don't let the werewolves bite_.

Greyback's hunchbacked figure straightened up and clonked noisily over to the open window. What did he care anymore for stealthiness? His victim was fast asleep, oblivious to what was about to happen to him, and Lyall Lupin would soon pay for what he said. He leaned out of the window and into the still night air.

In the next room, the aforementioned Lupin cracked open an eye sleepily, wondering what the bloody hell could be going on in his son's room.

Greyback arched his long neck and let out a long, bloodcurdling howl towards the round moon: _revenge is here_. Remus suddenly jerked awake, sitting bolt upright, his eyes widening as they gazed upon Greyback's formidable visage. The werewolf turned to face him and advanced.

The last thing Remus remembered was Greyback lunging for him, long yellow teeth bared and dripping with stringy saliva and eyes glittering with malice. Then his father was crashing through the door, sending splinters flying everywhere, and there was a brilliant flash of light.

. . .

When Remus awoke, he was tucked under the warm, heavy covers in his parents' bed, bright sunlight. His mother and father bent over him worriedly, relief flooding their faces when they saw he was awake. Hope Lupin immediately took him into her arms.

"My poor boy...my poor boy…" she murmured.

"What happened to me, Dad?" Remus asked, reaching a out a heavily bandaged arm to a painful spot on his shoulder, a spot where, though he didn't know it, Greyback had sunk his teeth into his flesh. Lyall said nothing.

"Dad?"

Lyall looked up at Hope. She nodded silently.

"I-Remus-do you know who was in your bedroom two days ago?" he finally said. Remus shook his head. "That was Fenrir Greyback, one of the most heartless werewolves out there. He bit you, right there, on your shoulder." He touched his son's shoulder gently.

"He made you a werewolf, Remus." Lyall continued, choking at the end of his sentence. "A werewolf."

"A werewolf?" Remus repeated. "But Dad, you said werewolves were evil and soulless and heartless, and I don't want to be any of those things!"

"You _aren't_ any of those things," his father replied fiercely, wrapping his arms around Remus. "And don't you worry. Mum and Dad will always be there for you. Always. You understand?"

"It's what's on the inside that counts, anyway," his mother reassured him.

The problem was that almost nobody could look past his monthly transformations to see the inside. From then on, to most people, he wasn't Remus John Lupin; he was Remus John Lupin, werewolf.

* * *

**This time, I have upgraded to virtual Cockroach Clusters for reviewers! But if you'd rather have a virtual cookie, just say so. Vote for the next character in my profile or leave your vote in a review :) **


End file.
